


irreverence

by altilis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13085697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: Post-TLJ. Kylo asks Hux to come with him while he clears through Snoke's cabin on theSupremacy.





	irreverence

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [sullacat](http://sullacat.tumblr.com) for looking this over!

“What do you mean you want me to come with you? I’m not your private secretary.”

In the relative privacy of his own temporary office on the broken _Supremacy_ , Hux may or may not be yelling at his new Supreme Leader, who after two weeks still has yet to accept the gravity of his new station or to appreciate how difficult a peaceful transition of power is. 

“Do you have any idea how many ships are around us at this very moment? How critical it is to secure their loyalty?”

Kylo is, however, letting Hux rant at him, and that worries him, if only a little.

“Do you think this fleet will run itself?” Hux lets the question hang in the air for a long beat, then sighs, leans back in his chair, and waits.

“...I don’t know everything Snoke kept here,” Kylo finally says, calm and even, which is a rarity nowadays. “And at the worst, I’d rather not be left to rot.”

So, Hux thinks, he’s as afraid to go in there like the rest of them. “...fine,” he says, turning back to the map he was examining, “tonight, after shift change. Should I bring a patrol as well?”

“No. This is for your eyes only. Whatever I don’t keep, I’ll burn.”

\--

Kylo leaves his cape behind but his lightsaber hangs at his belt; Hux keeps his blaster pistol tucked at his hip. He has no expectations for what could be in Snoke’s quarters, which brings its own unease.

He stays half a pace behind to Kylo’s right and watches him stand there before the doors, eyes closed, for a long, long pause. If this were earlier in the day, Hux would yell at him to get on with it, but he’s spent most of that energy at two back-to-back meetings this afternoon. 

Something heavy shifts on the other side of the door, sweeps from the center of the door into the side walls. The pocket doors slide open.

“Wood?” Hux says under his breath like a man who has spent the majority of his life surrounded by durasteel and concrete. Every piece of furniture in the cabin appears to be carved out of wood, and most of the floor is covered in rich carpets with stories woven by the fibers. Even the lights are different, a warm golden tone instead of the harsh white fluorescence of the rest of the flagship.

Kylo, either unimpressed or extra familiar, continues in without pause over the woven runner that leads into an opulent sitting room of overstuffed armchairs and a long, large sofa with rich cherry wood and wine cushions. Hux follows more cautiously, stepping off the runner and coming at the furniture from outside the ensemble. He runs a hand over the top of the seat backs, testing that it’s there, that it seems as plush as it looks. In his mind’s eye, he can imagine Snoke lounging in one of those armchairs, and as his thoughts wander, he wonders if Kylo’s knelt there on the rug, ready for orders.

“Has it always been this way?” Hux asks as Kylo steps up to the coffee table at the center, which is topped with a squat glass vase with a wide mouth, glistening beneath the lights with irregular-cut crystals. 

“Yes, since the day I came to him.”

Hux makes a mild sound of interest. One hand braced against the back of the sofa, he looks around the large room. Shelves line the walls, full of books - at least that’s what he believes they are, though some look too intricately carved or oddly shaped. There’s another room through an archway of red tapestry to his right, where he can glimpse more shelves and a long work bench strewn with instruments of stone, glass, and steel. There’s three more doors, bronze, lead to other rooms along the far wall, and to the left the room curves around into a stark observation room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Perhaps, Hux thinks, he needs to check how much space this wing actually occupies -

His attention shifts at the clatter of crystals across the coffee table where Kylo’s poured the entire vase out. After taking a breath to calm his nerves, Hux walks closer to watch Kylo hover over the spread, plucking out blue, green, and opaque crystals with his power and placing them back into the vase. Kylo glances up for a moment but doesn’t stop. “Kyber crystals,” he says.

Hux’s eyebrows rise. “Like in the cannons?”

“And my saber,” Kylo corrects. Hux doesn’t roll his eyes.

“Is your saber broken? Why take more?”

“In case I need them.” The last of the crystals flies back into the vase. Done, Kylo brushes past Hux to enter the workshop. Hux follows. The workshop is much bigger than the glimpse from the sitting room, the edges lined with more shelves and the middle space dotted with transparisteel display cases of small, delicate artifacts of stone, cloth, and copper. 

Kylo moves between the cases slowly, peering into each one, and then he pauses at one, long enough for Hux to notice, before moving on.

“What are these?” Hux asks, pausing at the same case and looking at what seem to be silver, interlocking rings hovering between two magnets.

“Challenges,” Kylo answers, not stopping his careful search.

“A puzzle?”

“Not quite. More a strength test.” Kylo has stopped at another case and starts to pull off the clear cover. “They split apart if you pull equally from the center. In all directions. Using the Force.”

“Of course,” Hux says with a slow nod, wondering why he bothers to ask. He walks away from the case before he starts to think about Kylo wearing these rings around his wrists, the flex of his shoulders as his arms are pulled back, twisting and struggling to concentrate.

Moving to the workbench which comes up to his hip, he sees tools he can guess at - fine tools to manipulate, to solder, to etch, but then there’s a cluster of shallow tin wells with dark ink underneath an even-spaced stack of weathered brushes against the wall with long, stained bristles.

Hux moves over to the shelves to scan the books and scrolls, layers and layers of unlabeled documents, before he reaches out to pull a scroll off the shelf. The parchment feels rough, even through his gloves, and the curled edges scrape audibly as he unfurls it. The letters are drawn in bold, curling lines that betray years of practice and a touch of pride. If he holds it afar, Hux can almost see a shape to the script as it soars across the parchment, tracing out a constellation in carbon. 

‘Day 17,’ he reads, slowly, because this is not the crisp characters of his console, ‘Master has separated me from the others so that I can focus on my own progress without being distracted. I think he’s right. Training hurts more every day, and while I am learning to ignore the pain, it’s not fast enough. Master says the darkness can hurt at first, especially if you have more power, so if I—’

Kylo snatches the parchment out of his hands. “These weren’t meant for you,” he says, cold, and tosses it to the tile floor where it catches flame and begins to char. He reaches an arm in front of Hux and sweeps the rest of the scrolls off the shelf, then slices his hand through the air in a sharp jerk. There’s a loud crack! And the pile smolders, old words shriveling into the smoke.

In Kylo’s distraction, Hux reaches behind him and plucks an unlabeled book off the shelf. As it falls open in his palm, he notices the leaves are the same faded, rough parchment and the handwriting is the same, but with finer lines and sharper corners. 

‘We used the relic today, the one with the black crystal,’ it starts, ‘I tried to meditate through it, but it still sickens me. It starts like a chill when standing in the snow, but then it suffocates, like the Force has taken all the air with it. Master says that is normal—that I am only more sensitive to it now—but—’

Kylo knocks the book out of his hands, and before it even hits the floor he’s stepped up into Hux’s space, grabbing him by the lapel of his coat and pushing him back into the shelf. It’s the closest they’ve been in weeks. (Hux tries not to fixate on the new scar.) “What did I just say?”

“They weren’t meant for me,” Hux quotes as he keeps his chin up, meeting Kylo’s dark gaze, holding it. “But did you know these were here?”

“Of course I did!”

“Then you should have burned them before inviting me in, or else you don’t believe they can hurt you. Is there anything here that can?”

Kylo, the man he’s anointed and the one in possession of powers and weapons Hux will never understand, hesitates. It’s an unacceptable hesitation; they’re alive and Snoke is dead, and if there were traps in this room they would have already gone off.

As Kylo’s grip loosens on his lapel, Hux brings his hand up to fix his fingers around Kylo’s wrist. Strong, rigid - as he expects - but taut and trembling against his grip; Hux knows Kylo can pull away if he wants, but doesn’t. The thought flits through Hux’s mind: if this is the state he’s in now, what fear lies beneath the surface? What makes his company better than the alternative for Kylo?

“The answer is no,” Hux says quietly, watching Kylo look down at Hux’s grip on his wrist. “The answer should always be no, regardless of the truth. If there is something here, we’ll destroy it.”

“No,” Kylo says, firm, shaking his head. “There may be something that can defeat the girl—”

Hux’s hand tightens on Kylo’s wrist; he wonders if Kylo even feels it with how thick the muscle feels between his fingers. “Supreme Leader,” still quiet, as if anyone would hear them here, “we already have weapons to defeat her. We have six ships and countless cruisers and cannons. Do not be foolish and suffer to have things that can hurt her _and_ you. They have a habit of falling into the wrong hands.”

He releases Kylo’s wrist, and Kylo pulls away and faces the smoldering pile of ashes on the floor. A long beat of silence passes between them, and then he looks at Hux again while he’s straightening his greatcoat. “If we burn it all, and it turns out that I should have used something here to secure victory, I may kill you.”

“Will you at least use your own hand, this time?” 

Hux isn’t certain what possesses him to say this: maybe it’s Kylo’s continued proximity and their uneasy familiarity; maybe it was the reverie from the cuffs earlier; or maybe the ‘dark side’ really does affect hearts and minds and this cabin is lousy with it. (Or he’s just fatigued.)

Kylo shoves him back up against the shelf, that strong, gloved hand around his throat. “Like this?” he whispers to Hux’s ear, the rest of his bulk pinning Hux’s body against book spines and thick slats of wood. Too close, screams his every nerve, each with its own idea about whether to fight or flee or freeze. In the end, he focuses on breathing, Kylo’s muscle and mass and anger fighting that every step of the way.

“I saw your thoughts when I told you of the rings,” Kylo continues, that voice still quiet, contained, aimed directly at his soul. “I know you’d rather see me like that, on my knees, instead of Supreme Leader over everything you hold dear.”

Hux swallows hard, or tries. “...you’ve seen that before,” he gasps out, “haven’t you?”

Kylo tosses him aside, and Hux’s academy training kicks in: he tucks, rolls, and pushes himself back onto his feet, breathless, lungs aching, but unbroken. The fight is still here, though, Kylo’s anger unabated and the issue still hanging in the air between them. Hux coughs, takes a few deep breaths, swallows, then adds: “It isn’t the first time I’ve thought it...and I doubt it’s—it’s the first time you’ve seen it.” 

Their relationship had always been marked by Kylo’s thinly-veiled threats about what the Force allowed him to see in men’s hearts and minds, and there had been enough temptation on the Finalizer: private audiences, Kylo’s disregard for personal space, favors that relied on an appreciation for power and a fondness that Hux struggles to subdue even now. This whole business today, he’s convinced, is because Kylo knows Hux likes to watch him work. He knows Hux appreciates the strength he exudes, the thorough brutality of his execution, even if he also hates the emotionalism and his distraction. Kylo is always three very clear steps away from being the ideal warrior the First Order needs - focused, powerful, unflappable - and yet now they need all this and more. And Hux has spent two weeks thinking about how to cross that chasm.

“Does it bother you here, because it happened?” Hux gestures to the cabin with a great sweep of his arm as he closes the distance between Kylo and himself. “Is that how he kept you?” Kylo moves back as Hux comes up to him, towards the work bench. “Was it part of your training?”

“It doesn't matter,” Kylo says in the quiet space between them, his back pressed against the edge of the workbench. “The training is done. I'm no longer his, or anyone’s, apprentice.”

“Then why the reaction?” Hux watches Kylo’s face, but in his periphery he can see how Kylo’s body tightens like a spring again, ready to lash out. Another dangerous line to walk. “We all suffer similar humiliations in the academies, or in service, so what about this inspires such hatred that…ah,” he pauses, realizes, and it takes ten thousand hours of practice not to smirk or say this without any inflection: “you didn’t hate it.”

Kylo looks ready to kill him. His hand lifts up from the edge of the table. “Wait,” Hux holds out his own hand, as if that would stop anything. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think you’re lesser for it.”

“You’re lying.”

“Check, then.” Hux dares, and that alone is enough to make Kylo hesitate again, but he raises a hand until his fingertips hover just above Hux’s temple. 

“But I’ll have you know,” Hux says as he closes his eyes, already grimacing, “I do hate _this_. I doubt Snoke was any kinder about it for you.” 

He waits. He prepares himself for the push, the pierce, the unfolding memories and racing thoughts; he thinks about how much time he’ll have to set aside tonight for the nausea to pass. 

Cool leather touches his temple. Hux jumps at the touch and opens his eyes to see Kylo staring back at him. He doesn’t breathe, ready for the mental wrench--

Nothing.

The corner of Kylo’s mouth quirks. Hux takes a slow breath, tentatively allowing himself to relax. “You’re my most capable general,” Kylo says, voice warm and low. It’s the kindest thing Kylo has ever said directly to him, and more than Snoke had ever said; the only thing that keeps Hux from dismissing it out of hand is that it is, of course, true. 

Two fingers slowly tracing down from Hux’s temple to the corner of his jaw, following the line of his sideburn as Kylo’s gaze falls to Hux’s mouth. “If I put you out, then I’ll have to do all that work myself.”

“That’s what’s stopping you? Laziness?” Hux can't help his own smirk now, even as he resists the urge to shiver. He brings up a hand to brush aside Kylo's hand. “And as I said--”

He sees the mistake in slow motion, the way Kylo twists his hand to grab Hux’s wrist, how he jerks it across the space between them to move Hux off-balance and spin him while he’s on one foot. In the next breath, Hux finds himself pressed back against Kylo’s chest, his own arm wrenched down across his torso to keep his other arm pinned to his side with a noticeable stretch in his shoulder. Kylo’s feet are at least shoulder width-apart, the solid bulk of him braced against the bench, and his grip is unyielding; Hux can do little but watch as Kylo’s other hand slides over his groin with firm, careless pressure. “Ren - !”

“You said you don’t think I’m ‘lesser’ for not hating his training,” Kylo’s lips brush against the skin of his neck behind his right ear. “Then what _do_ you think of it?”

“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Hux starts in his calmest tone of voice, as if Kylo isn’t kneading a palm over his cock, “that you enjoy showing off your power. Being properly tested.” Hux turns his head slightly, enough to feel Kylo’s hot breath on his cheek. “And, I presume, the reward?”

After such a long week with little relief, Hux’s body responds with little restraint to Kylo’s touches; he must assume Hux is always pliant like this. “Surviving was the reward,” Kylo says softly, his fingers grabbing, tightening, flexing.

“Poor incentive,” Hux forces out, already struggling to keep focus; he wonders how much of the pressure is Kylo’s hand or his power. “I can arrange something better.”

Kylo chuckles, something Hux feels more than hears through the resonance across Kylo’s chest into his own. “I’m sure you can.” Kylo’s hand stops, and he bites a spot on the side of Hux’s neck so sharp and sudden that Hux, gasping, is positive that it will leave a bruise above the collar. 

“How about you?” Kylo asks. 

Hux struggles to find a proper response other than “no” and “what a terrible reward”, and after three false starts settles on: “I’m not going to be your concubine.” 

He feels Kylo laughing again, right before the hand clamped on his wrist jerks him off balance again, and he’s spinning, and he’s free, but then there are hands on his hips and he finds himself sitting on the bench top, Kylo standing between his knees and looking at him with dark eyes, face lit by golden light. 

“Don’t be.” Kylo says, his strong hands clamped on Hux’s sides beneath the coat, clutching his shirt. “Watch me carry this empire. Task me with the impossible. Put me on my knees to keep me humble.” Kylo pulls him closer, leans in, and one hand slides around to press against the small of his back. “But when I stand, let me fuck you into the next morning.” 

He smothers Hux’s response in a kiss, demanding and forceful and all-consuming. Hux tangles his hands in Kylo’s hair and tries not to let him win.

 

The workbench is very solid and almost the right height, if he stands on his toes. The sofa and the armchairs are sturdy, but almost too soft. The rugs, he finds, are thick but the fibers coarse. He might have a strange burn on his shoulder blades tomorrow, which will make the uniform itch, if he gets that far.

\--

“Turn off fire suppression in the Level 1 cabins,” Hux tells the young lieutenant on duty in the controls room as he leans against the wall outside, holding the communicator in one hand while his other struggles to find the armhole in his greatcoat.

“For how long, sir?”

“Six hours, with full seal. Then notify the clean-up crews that I want full rehabilitation of the space.” He finally manages to pull his coat on, even if his skin is still too-warm and his clothes are rumpled.

“Will do, sir.” 

Hux turns off and pockets the communicator. Kylo enters the corridor from Snoke’s cabin, smoke pouring out from behind him before the doors shut. “Done?” he asks, and Kylo nods. They start walking towards the lift and Kylo's quarters at the other end of the hall.

“Do you intend to take the wing?” Hux asks when they pause by the door of Kylo's cabin, practically a closet compared to Snoke’s sprawl. 

Kylo looks down the corridor for a long moment, considering, then shakes his head. “No. I don’t have a need for it. You’re free to have it.”

“We’ll see.” It will take weeks to clear out the debris, but the structure remains; he only got a brief glimpse of that observation room. “Don’t forget the communiques in the morning, the tactical meeting, and intelligence briefings.”

“Can’t you sit in on those for me?” 

Hux gives him a look. “I’ll be there, but I may not sit.”

Kylo looks at him with bright eyes and a slight, knowing smile. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://cutequirk.tumblr.com).


End file.
